


Some Great Elysium

by Salomonderiel



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Humor, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salomonderiel/pseuds/Salomonderiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harry and Russell – Gawain, that is – they’re not concerned about me and my father. It’s that the last time I saw my family, it was at another funeral, one I’d rather not remember. They’re worried that seeing my family over a coffin will set me back, is all. But I’m fine.” </p>
<p>There's a quote that says 'experience is purchased with grief'. This is the story of how Merlin gained experience, and what he lost for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Great Elysium

**Author's Note:**

> This started small and grew HUGE. It's based almost entirely on songs by Bear's Den, the song 'Isaac' especially. A youtube playlist of their songs is below, I really recommend it, they're amazing and their music is so beautiful. The title of the whole story is from their song Elysium, and of the first chapter from Isaac.
> 
> Some basic info - it alternates between Merlin's past and the present day (that is, post-movie). Harry is still Galahad, Eggsy became Kay. I also decided that the selection process for joining the tech branch would be drastically different from the physically-intensive training for the field agents. More of a college course, than a team-building month. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Bear's Den playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxCpRlaJwTgwwULQdDbwrIupD0efhmnDE

It wasn’t a warm day, precisely. It was hardly likely for the temperature to rise about fifteen degrees for another few months, and even then their chances weren’t high. Occupational hazard of living in the north.

Either way, in the greenhouse it was just warm enough, and just far away enough from the house to get some peace. Isaac was curled up on one of the benches, the book resting on his knees dwarfing him, the top of his hair barely visible behind it. On the paving slabs below him, Eoin was making shapes with the leaves that had fallen from the orange trees. It was a lot quieter than it was in any distant corner of his house, especially with the guests round.

Not that Isaac didn’t _like_ having guests round. Guests meant Eoin was round. If only Eoin was old enough to come round _without_ his parents, life would be an awful lot easier.

“What book ‘cha reading?” Eoin asked, rolling onto his back, his wide eyes staring up at Isaac.

Isaac sniffed, and lifted a finger to push his glasses up his nose before turning a page. “You’re too young to understand,” he said, feeling important.

Eoin groaned, flinging his arms out, sending leaves drifting. “Ugh, _Isaac_ , I’m only _two_ years below you. Ellie is _four_ years below _me!_ We’re practically the same age.”

“And yet, I’m in the upper school, and you’re still in the lower school,” Isaac reminded him, his smile hidden behind the pages of his book.

More groaning, and Eoin rolled onto his stomach. “I _knew_ you’d be holding that against me,” he muttered, words muffled by the ground. “ _Wait_ ‘til I join you in the big school. Then I’ll be reading the same things as you are and I’ll be clever too and-”

“It’s a book I stole from father’s library,” Isaac said, partly to shut him up, partly because he couldn’t hold out against him. The instant he spoke Eoin sat up, eyes wide and mouth open in a strange mixture of shock and glee that only kids like him could manage. Isaac put his legs down, leaving space for Eoin to climb onto the bench next to him. “It’s an old collection of diary entries and letters, I think. From Ancient Rome. Pliny the Younger.” He pronounced it like ‘line’, unsure how to actually say it. Eoin would assume he was right anyway. “It’s really interesting.”

“Aw, cool!” Eoin said, though Isaac knew he had no actual interest in the topic. “What’re you reading about now?”

“Well, apparently some guy built a gym or something outside where Pliny lives, he’s complaining about it to a friend of his.”

“Read some to me?”

Isaac scowled at him over his glasses. “You can read, Eoin, I know, you were boasting to me about it-”

“Yeah, but it’s just _better_ when you read,” Eoin cut in, smiling innocently.

It was just easier, Isaac knew, to give in. Sighing, he started to read aloud, stumbling occasionally over the words he didn’t quite know yet. Every time he found one, he’d make sure to remember it to look it up later.

He didn’t get very far though. A few sentences in and suddenly his view was blocked by Eoin. And he felt Eoin… _kissing_ him?

It lasted less than a second.

“I saw some kids do it at school the other day,” Eoin said, fiddling with his trainer laces, back on his side of the bench. “Just wanted to try it. You don’t mind, right?”

Isaac wasn’t sure how to answer. He’d say he was saved by the arrival of someone else… if that ‘someone else’ wasn’t his mother.

“There you two are!” she said, smiling at them. “We’ve been searching. We were going to have some afternoon tea, if you would like to join us? There will be scones and cream,” she said tantalisingly. On Isaac’s right, Eoin perked up at the mention of indulgent food.

Isaac, however, frowned. “Can’t I stay here and read?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

His mother sighed. “Your father would really like you to come and talk with the Cochranes,” she said, tone turning stern.

Eoin was tugging at his sleeve, whispering _scones and cream_ over and over again. Sighing in turn, Isaac closed his book, taking note of the page. “Yes, mother.”

**

Eggsy and Harry were bickering outside like the old married couple they were well on their way to becoming. But Merlin didn’t really hear what they were saying.

At some point, the door opened, and one of them said his name. Well, his codename. At this point they might as well be one and the same.

It was hard to look up from his phone, as if something was tying his gaze to the words on the screen. “Hm?” he asked, apparently words not forming either. He saw them, saw the looks on their faces, but couldn’t really understand them. His thoughts just kept going over the email, over and over.

Eventually Harry seemed to realise something was wrong. Walking forwards, he put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Is everything alright, my friend?” he asked quietly.

Even that question was too hard to answer, for some reason. “My,” Merlin started, looking back down to his phone as if it would guide him, tell him what to do. “My father died.”

Saying it out loud changed everything. It made sense. He looked up again and saw pity in Harry’s eyes, concern in Eggsy’s. “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” he grumbled, pocketing his phone and stepping away from Harry’s touch. “It’s not like it’ll change anything.”

He had work to do, so he did it. For some reason neither Harry nor Eggsy moved, both of them still staring at him. “What?” he asked, confused. “It’s hardly going to change anything. We haven’t spoken in roughly thirty years anyway. Now, did you want something?”

**

He’d stolen the record player from one of the lesser-used guest rooms – well, liberated really, as the thing hadn’t worked for about three years anyway – and was currently playing the latest _The Police_ record that he’d managed to sneak into the house. His parents were ‘hosting’ tonight, which meant that unless he was willing to dress up like a goddamn penguin and make polite conversation with people who were impressively ignorant of the progression of the times – both technological _and_ social – then he was imprisoned in his room for the evening.

It wasn’t a hard decision, by a long shot. He spent most of his time hiding away with books and music that his parents disapprove of anyway. The only way in which his parents having company created any inconvenience for him was that he had to eat dinner a few hours earlier than he was accustomed to, and was prevented from venturing to the library at any hour of the night.

So he fully expected a night of silence and solitude.

What he _didn’t_ expect was for gravel to hit his window at eight o’clock sharp.

Immediately lifting up the needle on the turntable, he set down his book and listened.

“ _Isaac!”_

He smiled.

He waited until a second handful of gravel hit the window before flinging it open, and, sure enough, on the grass two stories below was little Eoin, already bending down for another handful of gravel. “And _what_ , exactly, do you think you’re doing?” Isaac hissed back down. “This glass is _expensive_ , I’ll have you know. Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?”

Eoin just grinned up at him. “Are you gonna pontificate about the many negative aspects of my character all night, or are you actually gonna get your balding head down here?”

It took him a few minutes to get his room in order – i.e. records hidden in case mother came looking for him – but soon enough he was joining Eoin in the grounds. Climbing up and down the intricately decorated front of the house was, quite literally, child’s play for the two of them. They’d been practising it since they were able to run, after all.

“Ripped jeans?” Isaac asked sardonically, as they made their way from the well-lit house to where the nearest lake in the grounds was, a spot they’d long thought of as their own oasis. “Really, Eoin?”

“Balding head?” Eoin replied, caricaturely imitating Isaac’s walk and voice. “Yeah, and what? I like the _devil may care_ style. _You_ can’t say the same about your hair style.”

Blushing self-consciously, Isaac ran a hand over his, yes, thinning hair. “I think it makes me look distinguished,” he said, aiming for sounding pompous. Apparently he didn’t quite succeed, as Eoin just made a sound as if he’d witnessed a puppy trip over its own feet and reached up his own hand to ruffle the remaining strands of hair.

“Quite debonair,” he assured, laughing and dodging as Isaac reached out to shove him aside. “Oi, I take time out of my _so very_ busy schedule to come and entertain you, and this is how you repay me?”

It was Isaac’s time to laugh here. “Busy schedule, is it?” he asked, slowing to a halt as the lake appeared over the slight hill. “What, rowing practise go on this late on a Saturday, does it? I had _no idea_ you were so dedicated.” Eoin stuck his tongue out at that, and Isaac laughed at him.

One of the oldest trees on the grounds (which was in itself one of the many facts about the estate that Isaac had had to route learn from birth) was also one of the most twisted and low-hanging, huge branches with diameters wider than, if not Isaac’s height, then definitely Eoin’s. Climbing up onto one of the low, large branches was yet something else they’d long mastered. Eoin got up first, offering a hand to haul Isaac up next to him.

“I’d have thought your parents would have made you stay at home,” Isaac said, getting comfortable against the tree trunk. “You’ve got your first O-level in, what, under a month now?”

Eoin shrugged, taking up his usual risky position lying lengthways across the branch. One day he was going to fall, and Isaac was going to do bugger-all to stop him. “Eh, well. Letters of recommendation, I’ve already been introduced to the Dean and the rowing coach of St Andrews… they don’t seem too worried about my future.”

“And you?” Isaac asked.

Eoin grinned, flicking at a loose piece of bark. “You don’t need good grades to qualify for the Olympics.”

Isaac chuckled. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Eoin’s goal in life was to be a world-level rower, and that he was easily capable of becoming so. And, what with members of the royal family competing in the Olympics, his parents could hardly deter him.

“What about you?” Eoin asked, rolling to face him. “What career and university have your parents picked out for you?”

Isaac sighed, and closed his eyes. The spring breeze was just warm enough, even this late into the evening. “There’s no doubt about Oxford,” he said, letting his fingers trace patterns on the bark. “Only question is subject. The parents are being _relentless_.”

“You were damn near raised with Latin as a second language,” Eoin pointed out. “How are you surprised at their determination to make you take a law degree?”

“The role of the second son has hardly changed since Georgian times,” Isaac muttered. “I am really quite determined to apply for the degree in… well, _technology_ , for the simple minded like yourself,” he said cheekily, causing him to get hit by a well-aimed twig. “I might just apply for it, and let them find out in their own time,” he mused.

“You’d get in shit for it,” Eoin pointed out, his casual use of foul language belying his far more casual upbringing more than a pair of ripped jeans ever would.

“When am I not ‘in shit’ with my parents anyway?” Isaac countered. Eoin raised a finger, allowing him that one.

The silence was comfortable, and soon led to an unspoken battle on who could get a chunk of bark the furthest distance into the lake. Within but a few minutes, the two were stood on the branch, side by side, clutching each other’s elbow’s to stop the momentum sending them falling back to earth.

Isaac didn’t know why he ever thought he could beat Eoin anyway. Yes, he had maths and physics on _his_ side, but Eoin just had… _everything_. When the younger did a rather reckless victory dance, spinning around and hooting rather unflatteringly, Isaac couldn’t help but smile.

“I turned sixteen the other week,” Eoin pointed out, rather unnecessarily roughly half an hour of laziness later. As ever, he’d persuaded Isaac to lie next to him across the bark, legs dangling off the edge.

“No, really?” Isaac asked, the sarcasm barely detectable under the heavy Scottish brogue. “I was wondering who that fancy card and bloody expensive watch was for.”

He got an elbow to the ribs for that one. “ _You_ didn’t send me a present.”

“I did too. Did you not just hear me complaining about the price of that watch? Which you’re not wearing, I notice.”

Another elbow, same bruised rib. “Don’t be _obtuse_ , Isaac,” Eoin tutted, affecting the voice of his mother. “You know precisely what I’m talking about.”

Heart thudding, smile tightly buried beneath weariness, Isaac sighed. “Oh, dear, is it this whole ‘corruption of minors’ thing again?”

“It would be,” Eoin muttered, grinning, rolling onto his side. One of his hands rest comfortably on Isaac’s chest. “If I was _still a minor_.”

Eyes wide as if the concept hadn’t even occurred to him, Isaac let out a loud exclamation. “Oh, lords, you’re right! When we get back to the house, I’ll call a prostitute for you pronto-”

Eoin shut him up by jerking him forwards by the collar and pressing their lips forcefully together. Laughing into the kiss, Isaac reached up a hand to cradle the back of Eoin’s head. Gently, lovingly, familiar with the motion by now and heart painful with the excitement of what, tonight, _finally_ , they would be able to do – he kissed him back.

**

“You can stop staring at me like that.”

He could _sense_ Gawain’s raised eyebrows. “How can you tell how I’m staring at you like?” he asked, politely affronted.

Merlin snorted, scrolling through the next lot of financial reports that he _really_ wished he could burn. The one true con of transferring all paperwork to digital copies. “Haven’t you heard the latest rumours being circulated by our youngest Kingsman agents?” he muttered, smirking. “I’m omniscient, especially where unfinished paperwork is concerned.”

“How do you know that I haven’t already finished.”

“Like I said. Omniscient.”

Gawain huffed, and shuffled in his chair. He didn’t contradict Merlin, but he didn’t continue typing either.

Eventually, sighing, Merlin spun around in his chair. He levelled his own stare back at Gawain, and crossed his arms. “Who told you?” he asked, taking immense pleasure from the agent’s sudden awkward embarrassment. “Galahad or Kay?”

Gawain was a well-seasoned agent, been part of the organisation almost as long as Harry. He knew the futility of trying to withhold information from Merlin. “Kay,” he confessed easily. “But Harry was the one shooting me meaningful looks over his shoulder, if that helps you direct your revenge.”

“My thanks,” Merlin said dryly. “But I appreciate his – and your – concern, even though it is _severely_ misplaced. I absolutely don’t need supervision.”

“You think we don’t know how much you hated the old wanker?” Gawain asked, his position shifting into something more comfortable now that the deception part of the conversation was out of the way. For a trained and highly decorated spy, he was truly terrible at lying to friends. “You almost beheaded Harry last time he suggested you took a few days off to visit family. Lords, no, that’s not where our concern is coming from.”

There was truth in that. He’d hardly bothered to hide how much of an anachronistic cunt his parent had been. “So, what?” Merlin asked. “You’re assuming this will trigger a sudden wish for power and that I’ll start assassinating family members for the estate? Hardly.”

“No, Merlin,” Gawain said calmly but firmly. He was peering at him over the top of his glasses, lips twisted in something caught between concern and disapproval. “Our thinking was more along this line. What, exactly, was the last funeral you went to?”

Merlin answered too quickly. He knew it, as soon as he opened his mouth. “James’,” he said, meaning the last Lancelot. It was the last major death in the agency, discounting Chester King. _His_ funeral had been small and markedly empty.

Gawain sighed at him, shaking his head. “No, you were in _here_ then, helping Caradoc through the unavoidable mission in Ukraine. I know that, Harry knows that, and I know that you also know that. _Now_ do you see why we’re worried about you?”

Yeah, Merlin knew. “It hardly matters,” he said, picking up his tablet and continuing working. As far as he was concerned, the main part of the conversation was over. “It’s not like I’m going to go to his funeral anyway.”

“You should.”

“Yes, but I won’t,” Merlin said sharply. “So, to quote our beloved young Kay, ‘you can take your pity and go shove it up your-”

**

The sun was already setting when the train finally arrived at Dumfries. It was bloody good job it was the last stop for that train, as Isaac was fully ready to dose off. The man opposite him, however, made a damned loud noise taking his rucksack off the luggage rack, startling Isaac into action.

He only had the one suitcase, aware that not only did he still have a large selection of clothes at home, but that the clothes he kept at university were remarkably unsuitable for what his mother would term ‘polite society’. I.E, they weren’t white shirts and trousers with creases down the front.

His parents weren’t waiting for him on the platform. He hadn’t expected them to be. He was fully aware they’d rather send one of the men who worked on the grounds, or perhaps the man who looked after the house when his parents were sitting in an armchair thinking of more important ways to spend their time.

What he _hadn’t_ expected, however, was the young man with the slight stubble, blazer with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows, ragged jeans and the ever so slightest eyeliner.

Isaac saw him before he himself was spotted. “They let hooligans like you _drive_ these days?” he called, unable to suppress his smile. “My god, I leave this country for _ten months_ and look what it’s become.”

Eoin turned at the sound of his voice, letting out a yell at the sight of him. He jumped forwards, wrapping Isaac – who was now much smaller in physique than the younger man – in a straight-jacket of a hug. “ _Gods_ I’ve missed you!” he laughed, seemingly unaware of the air he was squeezing from Isaac’s lungs.

“You sent me letters every fortnight and made sure I called you every other day,” Isaac wheezed out, gently trying to gain freedom from the ever-tightening grip. “How could you possibly have missed me, I didn’t even let you _breathe_ without contacting you somehow or other.”

Finally realising that he might be damaging Isaac slightly, Eoin jumped back again, laughing. “Yeah, well, you know how it is,” he said, a statement that didn’t really answer his question. Yet, somehow, Isaac understood exactly what he meant. “C’mon, you look like you’re about to collapse on your feet, old man.”

“Only because today’s young ‘uns seem to have forgotten that some of us require _oxygen_ ,” Isaac replied, grinning. “Here, why don’t you hold this, you lithe youth,” he said, shoving his back at Eoin. But Eoin didn’t complain.

“Sir yes sir!” he said with the utmost sincerity, snapping a quick salute, before grinning again and leading the way from the station. “Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I might have told your parents that your train was delayed and that you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow…”

Not exactly complaining, but still not entirely understanding, Isaac frowned at him. “Why on earth would you do that?”

Eoin shrugged. “Well, y’know. Thought you wouldn’t mind going somewhere slightly more… _private_ for the night,” and he threw Isaac the most lewd wink he’d ever seen.

“My parents will be pissed if they find out,” Isaac said as an only moderately sincere warning.

“When _aren’t_ your parents pissed at you?” Eoin countered easily, using what was usually Isaac’s side of the argument.

“Okay,” Isaac admitted, smiling impossibly wide, “Okay, I confess – you _might_ have some brains after all.”

Eoin gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you implying that my IQ is _lower than average?”_

“Eh, moderately,” Isaac replied.

“How _vicious_ of you.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“Terrible, truly terrible.”

Isaac laughed. He’d missed this. Yeah, there’d been the phone-calls, and the letters – so many letters, a damned novelette every other week, but at least they were _something_ he could hold. You couldn’t hold a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, the tinny voice just a reminder of how far away he was.

When they finally hit the bypass connecting Dumfries to their local village, Eoin reached over and casually rest his hand on Isaac’s knee. Smiling, eyes closing, Isaac twinned their fingers together.

**

It was less than an hour late when Merlin found his office (or the central surveillance room, depending on the day) invaded by none other by Eggsy Unwin, swaggering straight in with his usual disregard for knocking. Merlin flung down his clipboard and spun to face Eggsy. “Oh for _heaven’s sake!_ ” he yelled, causing Eggsy to look momentarily taken aback, “Is Harry going to send the whole damn agency in here to check on me? I’m _fine!”_

Eggsy hovered in the doorway, looking slightly scared. “I, uh, don’t know who Harry’s sent, but I’m here of my own volition mate,” he said, carefully stepping forwards as if Merlin had lined the floor with mines. “I’m not here because I’m worried about you, I’m here ‘cause I’m curious as fuck,” he confessed, when no other outburst appeared imminent. He collapsed into the wheelie chair on Merlin’s left, and started to spin back and forth with annoying carelessness. “What’s all this sudden office drama about you and your old man about then?”

“Nothing,” Merlin muttered between clenched teeth. “I don’t get why they’re so fussed about it. Honestly, I don’t give a damn that he’s dead.”

“I get you,” Eggsy said sombrely, the serious tone slightly worried with how he was pushing the chair about with his feet like a teenager. “I mean, I’d hardly get pissed if some bastard came along and stabbed the fuck outta Dean. Or if his heart ruptured. Hell, I wouldn’t cry a tear if he got terminal cancer. Some people are cunts, and don’t deserve to be mourned.”

Ah. “So, you came in here hoping to have a shit-dads heart-to-heart, and that _that_ would make me cathartically reveal all my pent up emotions and maybe cry and bit and – well, I’d say braid hair, but there’s a slight logistical issue there,” Merlin rounded off sardonically, gesturing to his bald head. “Is that about the gist of it?”

Eggsy grinned charmingly and innocently, shrugging in admission. “Eh, though it’d be worth a try. Seriously though, I know a thing or two about shit dads. One was great but got himself killed, the other tried getting _me_ killed.”

Merlin turned back to his work, hoping he hadn’t thrown his clipboard down too hard when Eggsy first walked in. He was getting through far too many of them as of late. “Look, I hate to disappoint you, but my father was the perfect nuclear family father. Two sons perfectly trained for their roles in life and one daughter married off to a suitable bachelor. I had no cause to complain.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” Eggsy declared, as if it was a professional diagnosis. “You seen _The Last Leg_ recently? You need a bullshit button in here somewhere. Because _that_ was bullshit.”

I wasn’t so much that Eggsy was lacking in tact, when it came to matter such as this, as he knew full well when tact should and shouldn’t be used. Where others would – and _had_ – trod lightly around Merlin in this topic, Eggsy appreciated that that approach wouldn’t work, so he didn’t try it. It was quite refreshing, actually. Even better to know that he could violently insult the man who had fucked him over for so long and know that he wouldn’t be met with cautious, judgemental stares. Merlin actually allowed himself to smile. “Yeah, no, the man was a right bastard when it came to considering his children as anything more than markers of his social standing,” Merlin confessed, setting down his work, and turning to face Eggsy. “He wasn’t the most _attentive_ father. Didn’t even realise I was taking a degree of my own choosing, not his, until two years in. It wasn’t long after that we stopped talking altogether. No, Eggsy, it’s not… Harry and Russell – Gawain, that is – they’re not concerned about me and my father. It’s that the last time I saw my family, it was at another funeral, one I’d rather not remember. They’re worried that seeing my family over a coffin will set me back, is all. But I’m fine.”

Eggsy didn’t answer him there, not immediately. He’d stopped swinging so much a while back, was now watching Merlin with his head tilted to one side. After a while, he slammed a hand down on the desk. “I’m not kidding,” he said, leaning forwards. “ _Bullshit. Button_. Get on it.”

Eggsy left the room not long after that, about fifteen minutes of general shop talk later.

Merlin allowed himself a few seconds of silence, closing his eyes, breathing deeply, before getting to work again. He paused, before grabbing a post-it note and scribbling down _bullshit button_ in careful lettering.

**

Someone had had the wise idea of having a picnic. ‘Family bonding’ or some such. Never mind that half of them weren’t _actually_ related to the other half, but that sort of thing doesn’t matter when you’ve known each other for over twenty-five years. Besides, it was the first sunny weekend that the two boys had both been home from their respective universities since Christmas, so that someone – most probably Eoin’s mother, rather than any relative of Isaac’s – had decided that a picnic in the estate grounds was the _thing to do_.

The only good thing about that, as far as Isaac could see, was that Pimms was on hundred percent guaranteed. And if Eoin’s mother, Mrs Cochrane, had any hand in the making of it, with added gin.

The ‘children’, as they were still termed, even though the youngest was now sixteen, were tossing a Frisbee back and forth. The children didn’t include Henry, Isaac’s older brother, of course. Prerogatives of being the eldest by over five years. No, the ‘children’ included just Isaac, Eoin, and little Eleanor. Eoin was an only child, not that any of them had ever considered him as such.

And, okay. Isaac would confess that, at the moment, they were having fun. Mainly because Eoin was being _completely_ ridiculous and throwing himself on the floor in desperately over-dramatic moves to attempt to catch the Frisbee rather than admit defeat, actions that had left Eleanor and several of the more well-intentioned adults in fits of laughter. Of course, Isaac’s father had merely frowned and muttered something about ruining his clothes.

_Thank god_ my _son does not act in such a reckless way_.

If only he knew about the few rough training weekends Merlin had been having recently.

While Eoin teased and entertained Eleanor, Mrs Cochrane called him over. “So you’ve finished at university!” she cried cheerfully, Pimms swilling dangerously in her glass. “Excited?”

“Mildly,” Isaac granted, unable to not smile back to her. “Slightly sad, however. I can’t imagine I’ll have the same excuses for behaving poorly in the real world as I did while still in education.”

According to the reaction of Mrs and Mr Cochrane, that comment was hilarious. Even his mother permitted a smile. “And Archie said that you already had a job lined up?” Mr Cochrane prompted.

Isaac nodded, eyes flickering first to his father – who seemed to find the small sausage rolls more interesting – then over his shoulder to where Eoin was refusing to relinquish the Frisbee. “Yes, I was lucky enough to be offered a job by a firm in London. I start the beginning of next month, if all goes well.”

“And? What is this new job?”

“Nothing major,” Isaac said dismissively. “Merely a pen-pushing position, nothing exciting, I assure you.”

“Jeremy, would you pass the chutney?” Isaac’s father suddenly cut in loudly.

Attention was suddenly diverted elsewhere. Isaac knew his dismissal when he heard it, and gratefully joined in the game that had continued in his absence.

Eventually the Frisbee came dangerously close to hitting the quiche, so it was decided that perhaps the kids should take up a slightly less dangerous means to use up their youthful energy. So, grabbing some food to keep them well fuelled – ‘growing kids, after all’, Eoin had remarked with a grin – they set off on their ‘wild, dangerous adventure’ (yes, Eoin again) across the grounds.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Eleanor confessed. She had confidently grabbed both of their hands and pulled them along on the walk, swinging their arms back and forth like a child. “It’s going to be so sad, so quiet after you go.”

“I’m not _dying_ , Eleanor,” Isaac pointed out dryly, catching Eoin’s eye. Eoin grinned at him.

“But you’re gonna be so far _away_ ,” Eleanor moaned. “I’ll hardly ever see you! And don’t pretend you’re going to be coming home at every opportunity, I _know_ you can’t wait to escape. It’s going to be just me stuck here…”

“Ah yes,” Eoin mused, “I forgot for a second that I was chopped liver.”

Isaac laughed, and Eleanor shoved Eoin to the side. “You _know_ it’s not the same thing,” she chastised. “It’s not. It’s going to be so…”

“Ugh, it’s going to be _wonderful_ ,” Eoin cut in, beating her to it and almost falling to his knees with the reverence of the image. “You’ve know idea how long I’ve waited for my freedom from _that one_.”

Isaac laughed even harder, his inability to breathe forcing him to come to a stop. Eleanor gasped with shock, pushing Eoin hard enough to unbalance the laughing fool, sending him to the grass. “You’re truly _horrible,_ and I shan’t talk to you anymore!” she declared.

“Perfect,” Eoin said, getting comfortable on the ground, resting his hands behind his head. “In that instance, run back to the picnic blanket and get us some of those adorable little scones, would you? We can’t let the parents eat them all, they’ll just get fat. Please, lovely.”

For a moment Eleanor just stared down at him, one eyebrow raised, looking ever so much like her mother. “Fine,” she said, unable to hold back her smile. “But only because you asked so nicely!” she called as she started to run back to the food.

Only smiling a little, Isaac raised an eyebrow. Grinning, Eoin waggled his eyebrows and patted the ground to his left invitingly.

“You wasted no time getting rid of her,” Isaac said, obediently lying down beside him. “If I had to guess, I’d say you didn’t like the company of my poor sister.”

“Eh, I like her, I just prefer it when your company comes minus siblings,” Eoin confessed. “Now, shush. Enjoy the sunshine.” Having issued his orders, Eoin closed his eyes and leant back against the grass. Teasingly, Isaac knocked his ankle a few times, getting kicked back, but did as instructed.

Within a minute, Eoin started to hum. The tune was something annoyingly familiar, something that grated but the name staying just out of reach of Isaac’s memory. He opened his eyes, turning to glare at Eoin, waiting for him to either stop or explain. “What the hell are you humming?” Isaac demanded when it became too much.

Eoin just smiled, which made the whole situation ten times worse. Eventually he started to sing, softly, barely above a breath, “ _I know I must do what’s right, as sure as Mount Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti…”_

Horror overtook Isaac before Eoin got the third word out. “Oh, no,” he said quickly, scrambling onto his knees, trying to get a hand over Eoin’s mouth as the bastard kept laughing, dodging, and _kept singing_ , “No, no you don’t, shut _up-_ ”

“ _I seek to cure what’s deep inside, frightened of this thing that I’ve become-_ ” his voice had risen from a vaguely in-tune mutter to all-out reckless yelling and laughed words as he writhed to get away from Isaac.

“Fucking _stop!_ ” Isaac pinned him down, his knees either side of Eoin’s hips, resorting to tickling and pinching to get him to stop and Eoin continued into the chorus with full force.

“ _IT’S GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM YOU-”_

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard this song in the past _month, do you?”_

_“THERE’S NOTHING A HUNDRED MEN OR MORE COULD EVER DO-”_

“One more word and you’re a dead man, I fucking swear it-”

“ _I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA-”_

Eventually, Isaac settled for shutting Eoin up the only way he knew how. Cliché, but at least kissing didn’t create the unnecessary bruises that pinching did. Well, unless you wanted it to.

Eoin was still laughing at Isaac kissed him, but he stopped squirming and instead pulled Isaac closer to him, keeping their bodies flush. Eventually the singing relented.

“What the _hell_ did I do to deserve all that?” Isaac asked, resting his forehead against Eoin’s, pressing their lips together in the gaps between words.

Eoin smiled up at him. “Well,” he said, reaching up to brush something off Isaac’s cheek, “I heard my parents talking to you earlier, and Ellie just then – I thought you might want some positive feedback about your upcoming job, for once.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “ _That_ was _positive?_ ”

“ _It’s going to take a lot to drag me away from you_ ,” Eoin sung again, softly, thumb slightly brushing over Isaac’s cheekbone. “London is hardly San Francisco. I’ll still be seeing you. There’s still phones. Ignore those stuck-up bastards, they don’t _know_ you. I know how excited you were when you got the job. Who cares if it’s just administrative position, hell, who cares if it’s a cleaning position – whatever the fuck this job of yours is, if it makes you that excited, then I will quite happily take out anyone who tries to stop you from taking it.”

Sometimes, the amount that Eoin loved him scared Isaac so much that for once, he could understand why Romeo and Juliet took the easy way out.

At the same time, it was the most beautiful thing on the earth. It was, in an almost literal way, breath taking.

It was then, that moment of epiphany, or fear, of revelation, his face held in Eoin’s soft hands, the two pressed as close as they could be but still not close enough, that he heard his sister gasp.

It was pointless to scramble back, to pretend that she hadn’t seen anything, but Isaac found himself doing so anyway. Sometimes emotions trumped logic. His mouth was open before he got to his feet, before he could turn around to see the look on her face. “Look, Eleanor, I can explain-”

“Oh, well, this had _better_ be good.”

That wasn’t Ellie’s voice.

Eoin was still on the floor. He was looking past Isaac, looking at someone with complete terror. The last time Isaac had seen him look that scared, he’d been chased by a goose taller than he was. Knowing already what was about to happen, Isaac steeled himself before turning around. “Father,” he said as calmly as he could, unable to meet his father’s cold, furious stare, instead brushing strands of grass from his shirt. The sleeves on his forearms had been stained green.

“I knew there were many things… _wrong_ with you,” his father said, his speaking with the same forced calmness as Isaac. “But I never imagined you to be this _diseased_.”

Someone not that long ago had asked Isaac if, put in the correct situation, he would be capable of killing a man. He now knew he’d given them the correct answer. “No, _you_ don’t get to call me diseased,” Isaac said, “you don’t get to say a damn thing about my morality, not when you’re-”

“You _dare?”_ His father was yelling now, advancing on Isaac as he stood his ground, chin up, refusing to back down, not this time. “You dare to accuse _me_ of – of anything! I never had this trouble with your brother, nor your sister, but I knew there was something rotten in you, knew it from a young age-”

“How? How could you _possibly_ know anything about me when you haven’t held a conversation longer than five sentences with me since I was ten-”

“Silence!” his father roared, flushed red. Behind him, Isaac’s mother, Eoin’s parents, gasped in shock. Isaac hadn’t even realised they were there. “I will _not_ be spoken to like that, not by an abomination like you. You, whom _I raised!_ How dare you do such a thing, to our family, bringing such corruption to our house, and worse, you have the impudence to drag the Cochrane boy into-”

Isaac laughed. “You think – that I _dragged_ Eoin into this-”

At that, his father spun to face the Cochranes, as if he’d get support from them. Eoin’s parents just looked scared. Isaac wanted to apologies for the awkward situation his father had put them in, but it was long past time he stopped making excuses for him. “No son of mine-”

“Then let me make this easy for you,” Isaac said coolly, pushing his father’s finger out of his face. “I won’t be a son of yours anymore. There, solves problems for both of us. You don’t have to pretend you don’t have a fucked up kid, and I don’t have to tiptoe around a piece of _shit_ parent.” Hands clenched, unable to look at his sister or mother – certainly unable to look back to Eoin – he stepped around his father, half wanting to be stopped so he’d have a legitimate reason to throw his father to the ground.

He wasn’t stopped. His mother, however, called out after him. “Where are you going?”

“To pack,” Isaac replied. Whether she heard him or not, he didn’t know.

**

Harry didn’t seem to get the point. “Are you saying that it’s up to me whether I go on this assignment or not?” he asked, for about the fifth time.

Merlin tried not to look to the heavens for patience, but it was a struggle. “ _Yes_ , you bloody moron, that’s what I’m saying,” he conceded. “Arthur told me to allocate Kay with backup, and while Lancelot is currently in London, I made an executive decision to ask if you would rather be on the ground than wallowing away in your office and pestering me for Eggsy’s status every five minutes!”

Harry blinked with shock at him. And, okay, Merlin would admit he got a bit more emotional than he’d intended at the end there.

“Partly to show that I have no bad feelings for the emotional support groups you keep sending my way,” Merlin said, forcing him to stay calm, “and partly because you are just too remarkably annoying to keep grounded.”

“When I _shouldn’t_ be grounded,” Harry corrected pedantically, and erroneously.

“You have a broken ankle.”

“I’ve worked in the field with worse.”

“I _know_ , and that’s why I’m _offering_ you this!” Merlin almost yelled. Almost. He managed to keep his voice at a suitable level of decibels. “Look,” he said, calming himself and glaring at Harry who was probably doing this on purpose. “Personally, I think that an emotional attachment to a partner means you’re going to be _more_ focused on protecting him, rather than the more widely held perception that it’ll cause you to be distracted. And if you _dare_ say you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Merlin hurried to say as Harry opened his mouth, “I will ground you until Cornwall is under the sea. Understand?”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all,” Harry said imperiously, causing Merlin to snort. Perhaps he did need that bullshit button Eggsy had been going on about. “I was actually going to thank you for the thought, and that I would like to accept the assignment. Do you have the relevant files?”

Smiling, only slightly smugly, Merlin handed the files over. “Kay has his details already,” he said as Harry started to flick through the pages, “So I suggest that you and him sit down and talk through them. Perhaps over a nice meal at a restaurant somewhere? A two-person table, a few candles, something like that?”

Harry was far too much of a gentleman to give Merlin the bird, but the gesture was certainly implied by his glare.

“I’m just saying,” Merlin said, raising his hands in defence, “it’s hardly the eighties anymore, Harry. You don’t have to pretend now. So, for the sake of the sanity of everyone in this bloody institution, get your goddamn act together, aye?”

**

After storming from the picnic Isaac headed straight to his room. He didn’t have anything worth keeping anywhere else in the house, both because he didn’t trust his family with his stuff and because they would probably not approve of anything he owned in the first place. He’d kept his suitcase under his bed since he was eleven anyway.

He’d half filled it with clothes, two of his carry-all bags already filled with books and his various tech experiments, before he heard a soft knock on his door.

“You need any help with that?”

Eoin, of course. No one else would want to talk to him before he left. Isaac straightened up, two shirts balled in his hands. “I’ve already done all the heavy stuff,” he joked lamely, gesturing at the full carry-alls. “You with your usual perfect timing.”

Eoin smiled, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and leant against the doorframe, staying out of Isaac’s way. “Your radio experiment,” he said, gesturing with a nod towards Isaac’s empty desk space. “You’ve packet it. So, this is it this time, is it?”

“Aye, this is it,” Isaac confirmed, squashing his bulkier jumpers into the suitcase. “Couple months earlier than planned, but – well, no loss there.” Eventually he got it flat enough, having to force it shut as he tugged the zip around the taut seams. “I’m sorry,” he said, in the same emotionless tone he’d said the joke in. It didn’t matter how he’d said it, Eoin knew him well enough, had known him long enough to know what he meant, always.

Eoin’s hand slipped into his, pulling him gently away from the suitcase. “You don’t have to apologise to me,” he said softly, but his eyes were red. “My parents are relaxed about all this, you _know_ that. No, god, I’m-”

“Don’t think you’ve cause me to lose anything, don’t think that,” Isaac reassured him, reaching up to – to do _something_. To memorise him, perhaps, like a blind man, to remember what it felt like to be able to touch him whenever he could. “No, I’m not losing anything. I’ve already got a flat in London, and I doubt anyone here’s going to miss me. Unless my mother-?”

But Eoin shook his head, leaning in to Isaac’s touch. “I didn’t wait to see if anyone said anything, I didn’t say I was coming to see you, I said I was – that I needed fresh air, or need to go home, something like that.” He sighed, reaching up to hold Isaac’s hand against his cheek, as if he could hold him there forever. “I want to come with you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Eoin retorted, but it was a weak question, of course it was.

“You’re one year into university,” Isaac pointed out. “You’ve got plans-”

“My plan is to be with _you-”_

“And the real world doesn’t _work_ like that,” Isaac pointed out, smiling at the innocence of the boy before him. That was something he’d always remember, the innocence. His smile. His laugh. “Hey, you get your first gold, and I might let you kip on my couch for a few nights, how about that?”

That was the joke that broke the spell. With a laugh Eoin shoved him back, turning away. “You owe me a bloody lot more than a night on your _couch_ ,” he said, his wide grin looking out of place with puffy eyes and tear-tracked cheeks. “Right bastard you are, thinking I’ll accept your offer of a _couch_. No, _you_ get the couch, I’ll take the bed, thank you very much.”

“My apologies, my lord, but how about this,” Isaac offered, smiling as he grabbed Eoin’s hands and pulled him back, “you take one side of the bed, I’ll keep the other. The bigger side, of course. With all the pillows. You might get a blanket, if you bring one.”

Eoin tried to keep up the sarcasm, nodding along very seriously, but he couldn’t keep it up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, smiling and reaching up to wipe away the water building up in his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. You’ll save that space for me, right?”

“As I always have,” Isaac promised. They kissed, something simple, sweet, nothing they hadn’t done a thousand times before. For Eoin, it was promises of things to come. Isaac didn’t want him to think it was anything else.

“London’s a bit far out for you, but mind dropping me off at the train station?” Isaac suggested softly, foreheads resting together.

Smiling, Eoin nodded. “I’ll go bring the car round to the servant’s entrance – think you can carry that stuff down?”

Isaac nodded. “Easily. I’ll see you in five?”

“In five,” Eoin echoed, pressing a kiss to the corner of Isaac’s lips before hurrying out of the room.

Isaac waited until the footsteps had died out before turning towards the phone in the corner of his room. He dialled the eight-digit number from heart, answering the woman’s voice with the correct phrase. A few moments later, a man’s voice echoed down the line.

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Isaac MacLeod,” Isaac answered clearly. “I’m ready to come in now.”

There was a pause before his mentor replied. “Really? That’s two months before schedule. Have you said your goodbyes?”

“Yes.”

“Isaac-”

“Yes,” Isaac repeated firmly. It was only true in a limited sense. He’d said goodbye as best he could. How could Isaac ever truly say goodbye, explain it all to him and expect him to understand?

“What’s your location?”

“I’ll be at Dumfries train station in half an hour.”

“In that case, I’ll have Galahad come and meet you there, he’s just finished up in Dunfermline, I believe. And, if I may-”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d very much like to be the first to congratulate you on your admission to the Merlin division of Kingsman. Welcome to the team, MacLeod.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading - the rest shall be up soon, but I've got exams to deal with first...


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